The Matchbox
by Spoilerarlert
Summary: I have two best friends. One of them is named Eren. The other one is named Mikasa. They've been in love with each other since the dog days, but one of them is too afraid to admit it, and the other's too thickheaded to realize it. Now, this is where I come in.
1. Chapter 1

**September 6, 2016**

Future Armin,

This is the beginning of a months-long—well, more realistically, years-long—investment of patience, observing, and a relentless, persistent hope. If every domino falls in its place, then you, Future Armin, should expect to check off whether or not you're going to bring a plus-one in the coming years. This is certainly an ambitious undertaking, but at the core, I'm a realist. I don't sign onto projects that I doubt will come to fruition.

So let me frame this with some historical context.

I have two best friends. One of them is named Eren. He's been my neighbor since we were both four or five years old, sharing a treehouse right-smack between our families' properties. The other one is named Mikasa. She lives on the next block. The three of us have basically grown up together over the past decade-and-a-half, and by some strange twist of fate, we all ended up here at Maria College, Eren miraculously living on the same floor as me, Mikasa just a five-minute's walk away.

Since the dog days, my best friends have been in love with each other.

But one of them is too afraid to admit it, and the other's too thickheaded to realize it. The two are unbudging, anchored by their own inertia. They're like two horseshoe magnets facing away from one another, despite how strong their poles yearn to snap together.

Now, this is where I come in.

Newton's First Law of Motion states that objects at rest stay at rest unless acted upon by some net force. In other words, I'm going to build that force. The objective of the next few months is to push these two stubborn magnets in the right direction, slowly, gradually—and then sit back with a bucket of popcorn and let the laws of physics run their course.

As of right now, I'm not exactly sure how I'm going go about doing this. We've only just unpacked Dr. Jaeger's station wagon and pulled our comforters over our dorm beds, so for the meantime, I need to sort out what I've got at my disposal here at Maria—what places can come in handy, which people I can add to the equation. Sort out my variables. Plan out the algorithm. So for the meantime, I'll keep my eyes open and report back later.

Ciao,  
Past Armin

* * *

 **A/N: *rubs fingers* Alrighty, here's the beginning of a fun scheme, so fasten your seatbelts. Here we go.**


	2. Chapter 2

**September 20, 2016**

Future Armin,

Alrighty, two weeks into college, and we finally have something we can work with. Enter Jean Kirstein.

Frankly, I'm not too thrilled having Maria's headliner "fuckboy" as my roommate. Let me recount these conversations to the best of my memory:

"Listen," he said immediately after I introduced myself, "can we get all the awkwardness outta the way and lay out some ground rules." Then, he opened the door, squeaked off the cap of an Expo marker, and drew two balls and a shaft on the metal handle. "This can be our signal."

"Um, why don't we go for something a little less… obvious," I suggested.

Jean shrugged and drew a tall bowler hat instead—which, now that I think about it, is the spitting image of a condom in use.

At first, I was okay with it. Well, maybe a better way to put it is: I _pretended_ to be okay with it. If I saw his artwork after coming back from dinner, I'd try to ignore the animalistic noises on the other side of the wall and walk a few rooms down to knock on Eren's door. Eren and his roommate Connie would usually be passing a joint back and forth while watching a soccer game on someone's laptop or attempting to knock out some chemistry problem sets before giving up and turning on the soccer game. When the smell of weed finally got to me, I'd head back to see if the "bowler hat" had disappeared. Eighty-percent of the time, the results came back negative, and I'd make due haste to Mikasa's place.

Mikasa would typically be studying at her desk, earphones plugged in, using old-school Arctic Monkeys albums as an excuse not to interact to her roomie Annie. "There's nothing to talk about," Mikasa told me a few days ago, despite the fact that they're both A) starting midfielders for the women's varsity soccer team and B) sociology majors. We'd meet in the lounge of her dorm building and crank out some work before I'd head back to my place around midnight, where ninety-percent of the time on weekdays before Friday, the "bowler hat" would be half-assedly rubbed off. Once back in my humble abode, I'd be greeted with the rumbling snores of an ass-naked Jean who may-or-may-not be covered by a blanket.

I'm one for diplomacy, rather than the guerilla tactics Eren suggested, which included putting super glue in Jean's shaving cream. Yet it seems like the more I beg for decency, the more I end up crashing on Eren and Connie's floor.

"If I'm gonna be straight-up with you, I'd totally help you kick this guy's ass," Connie told me, offering me a suspicious-looking cookie to take the edge off (I turned it down), "but honestly, Kirstein's kinda a god, if you think about it. Like, imagine this guy's batting average. Near-perfect, I'd imagine."

(Note: Connie is nearly seven inches shorter than Jean. To my knowledge, he doesn't frequent the gym that often.)

"Fuck off, Connie," Eren said, chucking a wadded-up ball of chem problems in his roommate's direction. "I've never met the guy, but I'm sure this Jean's a grade-A asshole. We're talking about some dick who basically told Armin that his own room is off-limits during fuck-hour before even introducing himself _._ "

"That _is_ true," I chimed in. "Not exactly the most conventional way to greet someone."

"But you guys are completely missing the point," Connie persisted. "Eren, tell me. How many girls have you been with?"

"Wait, how's this relevant?"

" _Exactly_. If anything, we gotta learn this fucker's secrets because _this is college_. This is a time made for fucking around, and you and I, Eren, have struck out at every party we've been to. And Armin," Connie pointed right at me, "you lucky sonuvabitch. You _room_ with the Legend. Every day, you have direct access to his tips and tricks. I swear to God, if you don't capitalize on this incredible opportunity you have at your fucking fingertips, then we all stay virgins a day longer."

"Connie, that's disgusting," Eren retorted, pretending to be absorbed by his problem set. "No way in hell am I sinking to that asshat's level."

"Oh, cheer up," Connie said, slapping Eren's back with a huge grin. "Just because you haven't gotten your first kiss yet doesn't mean you're short of potential."

Reddening, Eren swatted Connie away. "Fuck off."

Bingo.

"Holy shit, you're kidding, right?" Connie guffaws, turning to me, wonderstruck.

"What?" Eren spat.

Right then, I wanted to tip my hat off to Connie. I could hardly contain the smile on face upon seeing the spark he lit set ablaze the course of this scheme. Eren's a tricky one to work with. He's stubborn as an ass, so planting a few seeds of advice in his head won't amount to anything. You're going to get a dead harvest on arrival. Instead of manipulating him, you manipulate his surroundings. Set up the maze for the mouse. Decide which way he needs to weave and wind in order to reach your cheese.

The idea here is to use Jean as a wall. Create only a single exit so that there's no path for Eren to go—except to get closer to Mikasa.

And how he will he help us achieve our goal?

Machismo. The male ego. Hubris. An essence that is simultaneously formidable _and_ fragile, imbued with the power to drive this scheme forward yet malleable enough for conniving people (like me!) to tinker with in the background.

Couple that with testosterone, and it's showtime.

I'll keep you guys posted.

Ciao,  
Armin

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 **A/N: Hey all, I know I've got a** _ **tooooon**_ **of fics that need updating ASAP, and for those of you who are waiting, you're probably wringing your hands, thinking, "WHY. WHY ARE YOU STARTING A NEW THING WHEN YOU'VE GOT A MILLION OTHER RESPONSIBILITIES. WHY?!" If it makes you feel any better, I'm wondering the same thing! I guess if I were to offer one explanation, it would be that I need something lighthearted because my other fics are kinda dark/heavy/angsty, so this is my regular dose of sugar to balance out the bitter. Hope you guys enjoy it!**


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